


The Keyhole

by filthybonnet



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Peeping Tom, Public Display of Affection, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: Anxious to be alone with her "Angel of Music" after a wonderful opening night, Christine Daae locks herself in her dressing room. Raoul, however not believing he was meant to be included when she left instructions that she was not entertaining anyone, strays from the company of his brother and other patrons to discover exactly what is beyond Mlle Daae's dressing room door.





	1. Not Entertaining Tonight

Christine Daae came forward for her bow as Agathe in the opening night production of “Der Freischütz.” Despite Carlotta’s fits, it was agreed upon by both management and directors that Mlle. Daae was a better fit. The Opera Ghost sent a note applauding they finally developed a sense of taste and waved his salary for the next month. She practiced rigorously with her Angel of Music and the applause, cheers and bouquets of flowers coming her way proved the pay off.

She glanced up at Box Five and her face glowed as two golden orbs locked with her blue eyes. A single red rose flew from that direction landing softly at her feet. She bent down to retrieve it in that instant the orbs disappeared. When she looked back up over the audience, she saw Vicomte Raoul de Chagny with his brother Comte Phillipe de Chagny in their box. Raoul was on his feet, clapping enthusiastically, tears in his eyes. She could see a large bouquet of flowers on the little bench beside him. Christine smiled as she curtsied again before stepping back.

As the curtain closed, she viciously pushed past her fellow cast members and the crew, hitting them with her elbows and flowers. The costume’s veil trailed behind her, catching on people, props and set pieces as she headed through the commotion towards her dressing room.

“Such an odd bird,” one mumbled. “On her way to being Prima donna and all she wants is to return to her dressing room.”

“Well it would be nice to have one with such low demands for once.”

Once outside the dressing room a couple of her dressing assistants waited for her.

“No, no!” She exclaimed shaking her head, her words rushed. “I wish, _no need_, to be alone. Tell all who come to my door I am not entertaining tonight. Leave all flowers, notes and the likes outside the door. Thank you.” Christine closed the door and locked it. She sighed as she dumped all the flowers in her arms onto the floor.

“Angel…Angel are you here?” Mlle Daae beamed, looking around the room. There was no response.

She sighed and proceeded to her vanity and sat down; removing the white daisy flower crown with its attached veil. She placed on the chaise lounge next to the vanity. The Soprano then untied the bow on the front lace-up of the wedding dress proceeding then to unlace it. Little by little the lace trim of her chemise was revealed followed by the pure white of the new corset she got just for this show. _How nice to have a front lacing costume. _She carefully guided the sleeves down her arms and placed the top of her costume on top of the veil.

“Erik…,” She turned her head and looked at the full-length mirror. “I felt your eyes on me tonight. Every note was perfect, just for you, Angel. I felt like I was your living bride in this dress.” Christine mindlessly pulled the ribbon from her hair and slowly undid the braid.

Suddenly there was a thump from behind her. She turned around and saw her Angel of Music recovering from tripping over the leg of the changing screen.

“Erik!” She squeaked.

“Forgive me for startling you,” He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I wanted to make myself known before you got too much further.” He ran his slender fingers softly down her arms, watching the goosepimples rise on her skin.

When he reached her hands, he lifted his and went to a little hexagon inlaid wood trinket box on her vanity. It was from his days in Persia and he gave it to her for one purpose only. The creak of the lid lifting revealed only one piece of jewelry, a gold ring. The Opera Ghost picked it up and gently slipped it on Christine’s left ring finger.

“Of course you felt like my living bride; because you are.”

She looked down at the ring and smiled.

“You told your dressers you were not entertaining tonight…”

“I did. I have been so busy with rehearsals and us with voice lessons we haven’t had time to be proper husband and wife,” she looked at his reflection in the mirror. “Take off your mask, Erik.”

The man lifted his hands to his head and removed the mask. As he lowered his hands back down, Christine took the mask gently between her fingers and placed it on top of the collection of items on the chaise lounge. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the face she once found monstrous. He bent down and let those thin lips touch her rouge painted ones.

*******

“Raoul, slow down, they wait for us,” Phillipe called at his brother but it was pointless. 

The young Vicomte with his arm full of flowers was bounds ahead, the path to Mlle Daae’s dressing room memorized. However, the spring in his step was halted by the one of the dressers.

“I am sorry Vicomte, Mlle Daae is not entertaining visitors tonight,” The dresser gave him a sad smile. “If you wish to leave any flowers, gifts or notes I will gladly make sure she receives them.”

The Vicomte flustered, “I believe you are mistaken, Madame. Tell her it is Raoul. She always wants to see me.”

“I apologize but Mlle Daae said tell all who come to her door she is not entertaining. She did not list any exceptions.”

“That’s just absurd! This is no way to treat a patron!”

“What is the matter, brother?” Phillipe finally caught up with Raoul.

“I am being informed Christine is not entertaining guests tonight! Not even me!” He tossed the flowers to floor on the side of the door.

“Is this true, Madame?” Phillipe asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“How could she do such a thing?” Raoul ran his fingers through his blond locks. “She knew I was to be here tonight.”

“Come, Raoul. There are plenty of others to humor us in the green room.”

*******

A loud gasp and laugh came from inside the dressing room. “Put me down!”

“In just a minute,” The Opera Ghost carried her bridal style to a large pink ottoman on the other side of the room. After he sat, he adjusted Christine so she was on his lap spanning him. “There,” He gently caressed her cheek before leaning into her lips.

Christine fumbled with his bowtie and buttons, as Erik opened his lips, his tongue finding hers. His hands found her knees, still covered in stockings, but they pushed under the layers of skirt, finding the few inches of exposed skin between the end of the stockings and the leg openings of her pantalettes.

Squeaking into his mouth, she pulled away, “Erik, please! Let me remove the skirt, I cannot damage the costume.”

*******

The Vicomte leaned against the wall of the green room by the door, arms crossed as he observed the actions of the room. Other male patrons had one arm around ballerina or a choir girl, a glass of champagne in the other. La Sorelli sat comfortably on his brother’s lap; she had undone his bowtie and the top couple buttons of his shirt and kissed his neck softly. _This is acceptable, but my wanting to properly court Christine is somehow not?_

Conversation was light and cheerful; discussion of the night’s performance, hopes for the new year, masquerade costumes. A girl sitting on a chair by herself made eye contact with Raoul. She smiled before he looked away. She stood up and made her way across the room; her light brown curls bouncing. She kept her hands folded together in front of her powder blue dress as she inched closer to the Vicomte.

“Sorelli informed me you are Comte de Chagny’s younger brother. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Excuse me, I need some air,” Raoul backed away from the girl. He grabbed door knob and left the room.


	2. Who Are You?

The skirt of Agathe’s wedding dress was now on the chaise lounge. Erik’s tux jacket, waistcoat and Christine’s stockings and pantalettes strewn around.

The Soprano gently kissed The Phantom’s jawline, slowly moving her lips to the taught, reedy skin of his pointy cheek bones. His hands that were on her upper thighs, tensed the nails digging into the flesh.

“Christine…” He whispered into her ear. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to, I _want_ to,” her soft lips gently touched the terrible sensitive skin.

The Opera Ghost slid one of his hands further up her thigh under her disheveled petticoat, “Christine is too kind to her dear Erik. Touching so lovingly where so many still not dare look.” There were tears on the edges of his eyes.

“Oh, Erik…” The Diva raised her mouth and kissed the creases of his deep-set eyes, tasting the tears. “I love you, dear husband. You deserve to feel like a husband. To be touched like a husband.”

His lanky fingers crawled in between her thighs, their light brush against the downy hair, a jolt to the swirl of electricity already alive in her body. Her whole body arched up as the air from her gasp tickled inside his ear.

“Kisses on the cheek are hardly what most husbands desire,” He ran his thin lips down her neck as she tilted towards him.

“But you do. My poor Erik’s face craves this intimacy,” Her words were breathless as her poor Erik slipped his middle finger into the crevasses of her womanhood.

All the knowledge he’d collected over the years from books and stories and yet he still felt ignorant. Yes, it had been very informative but to tread on terrane he never thought he would see was everything and nothing like his education had promised. Her warmth and wetness were a delight no story could properly prepared him for. The Opera Ghost recalled the name of the engorged tissue he now rubbed with his figure covered in her moisture. He also recalled where it was on the Gray’s Anatomy illustrations and that his Christine’s was slightly off center from this. He could never forget after that first moan she released. It was more glorious than anything she had ever sung.

***

Outside of the Greenroom, Vicomte de Chagny took a deep breath leaning his head against the wall.

He did not understand his brother’s ways with women. Still a bachelor at his age, it was an open family secret Phillipe had entertained a handful of performers in the Opera Populaire, Sorelli being his most recent conquest of the past few years. She was not a cheap artist to patron, but they also seemed to have a connection beyond that.

Raoul was raised by an Aunt, surrounded by female cousins; he was to be the brother to continue the de Chagny name by taking an acceptable wife upon returning and having a family. Phillipe planned this brotherly time as his proper forte into manhood: Salons, Turkish Baths, rendezvous with the women of the Opera. It was also supposed to be a time for him to bond with his estranged brother before heading off for his first Navy expedition. Instead Raoul grew smitten with an old childhood friend to the point that he would only think of marriage, not the tryst she should have been.

The young de Chagny turned his head and looked down towards Christine’s dressing room. Her dressers were nowhere to be seen. Slowly he tip-toed that direction seeing more flowers added to where he threw his. _It is worth the chance?_ He raised his fist to the door to knock when sounds from the other side stopped him mid-action.

“Angel, Angel!” Christine’s gasping words were followed by one of her distinct giggles.

_She is still here! _

Raoul pushed his ear to the door trying to her more.

“Beautiful, such beautiful singing,” A man’s voice; smooth and pleasant.

_What is the meaning of this! Who is in there saying such things!_ _I hope it’s not that Erik!_

Raoul looked down and there he saw it; the keyhole to Christine’s door: open, no key to obstruct his view.

Slowing bending down, The Vicomte then pushed his right eye to the hole. While he was familiar with the layout of Christine’s dressing room, it took him a minute to orient himself with the obscured view. _Vanity, mirror, chaise lounge_…his eyes reached the ottoman and he spread his hand against the door frame for support.

Ivory colored petticoat rested above the porcelain flesh of a small round rump nestled on a contrasting pair of black trousers.

_Oh Christine, how dare you be a divine example of a woman!_

The Vicomte dug his nails into the wood of the frame. His eye did not move as he watched lanky fingers trail down the back of her corset, over the lump of petticoat, only to finally rub the derriere. Soft sighs escaped The Soprano’s mouth.

_Who are you? How dare you! Show yourself!_

“Oh Angel there is still too many layers between us!”

A bowtie landed on the floor behind her.

_Angel who is Angel?_ Raoul pushed his head harder into the door. When he did, he lost he balance and his knee hit the door.

Christine gasp and jumped up off the mystery man’s lap, her petticoat coming partially down, “What was that?”

_Merde! Merde!_ The Vicomte quickly adjusted his position so he was kneeling.

“Maybe it was The Phantom of The Opera,” The man wrapped his arms around her waist as he chuckled.

“Oh Erik!”

_Erik! It is Erik! What is she doing with that monstrous bastard!_

Kissing and giggling, the couple made it to the chaise lounge where Erik’s face came into full view to the Vicomte. _Hideous! Monstrous!_ Bile reached in the back of his throat as he pushed himself away from the door. Swallowing the bile back, he took a few deep breaths. _Shall I look again? _


	3. Endowments

Standing in front of the chaise lounge, Mlle Daae frantically pulled at the buttons on her husband’s shirt as his tougue slipped past her lips. She untucked the shirt before running her hands over the firm bulge in his trousers. The Phantom groaned digging his nails into her soft bum. However as she fumbled with the buttons on the trousers’ opening; he pulled away.

“Let me,” He pushed his suspenders off his shoulders so his pants were no longer so taut. Calmly and collected he undid each of the trousers’ buttons. He then pulled his erection through the gussets of his drawers and pants.

Christine put both her hands on the organ, feeling its pulsing heat and the dampness of the tip due to Cowper's fluid. Though she smiled her cheeks burned as red as his member.

“Oh I love how you still play coy, Angel,” Erik lifted his hand and ran his finger through her hair.

*******

Raoul de Chagny looked at the floor on his hands and knees. He finally looked back up at the piles of flowers before looking over at the door. _Oh Christine! How are you doing this? How are you letting him do that to do? There has to be a reason…he’s still controlling you!_ Softly he crawled back to the door pushing his eye back to the keyhole.

“I am not playing coy. Cannot I still be excited yet anxious about coupling with you?”

“Your Erik does not scare you still, does he?”

Christine smirked as her fingers wrapped around his member and gently rubbed it back and forth, “Why don’t you try and find out?”

Raoul could not remove his eye from The Phantom’s member. _Is it really that large? Or are Christine’s hands that small? I’ve never noticed before. I don’t think they are that small… My sweet Little Lotte would never touch that revolting thing of her free will._

Christine’s corset fell to the floor with a soft thud as her chemise billowed through the air landing beside it.

The Opera Ghost pushed Christine to her knees, the top half of her body bend forward over the chaise lounge. Kneeling behind her, he shoved her petticoat up over her waist again. Grabbing the base of his cock’s shaft, he rubbed the tip against the folds of her womanhood.

“There is no one here to save you, Christine,” He leaned over and whispered into her ear.

_I am here to save you! Do anything, Lotte, say anything and I will break down this door!_

“Why would I need saving from an Angel?”

Erik gently guided his cock into her wet cunt. She gasped as he groaned. He was still behind her for a few seconds as Christine raised her backside higher while spreading her legs a bit wider.

“Oh Erik is not worthy of his Angel,” Yet still he started to push.

_Please scream stop or help or something, Christine! You cannot find pleasure with this…this thing! _The metal of the keyhole carved into the flesh around Raoul’s eye as he pressed himself flatter to the door.

He could no longer see The Phantom’s hideous face, but he was faced with a new horror. The Opera Ghost’s thrusts were slow and methodical and Raoul was able to see manhood glistened with Christine’s juices with each withdrawal. She whimpered each time she fully engulfed him again. Long fingers found the sensitive bud at the front of her woman hood.

“Oh Erik…Erik!” She cried as he rubbed that bud as he increased the speed and enthusiasm of his thrusts.

The Vicomte caught himself panting as he rubbed the growing bulge in his slacks. _God cursed his face but endowed him in many other ways to compensate…first music and now…The Little Whore!_

Hit by a revelation, he frantically crawled away from the keyhole towards the end of the hallway. A fit of sobs convulsed over his body.

“She was enjoying it!” The Vicomte whispered wiping the tears from his cheeks, only for more to come. “She…she was fornicating with that…that…”

Laughter and conversation came down one of the adjacent hallways.

“Hold on, just a minute… Raoul, what the Devil?” Phillipe walked up to his brother La Sorelli now on his arm. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

The younger man got up and brushed off his tux, looking away from the small group of people.

“Have you been crying, brother?”

Raoul closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his dignity, “You were right, Phillipe! She’s…she’s A Little Tart! Leading me on when she’s in there with some other man! Not just any man, her teacher!”

“Christine Daae?” La Sorelli raised an eyebrow. “She’s in there with her teacher, ‘The Angel of Music?’” The dancer laughed.

The rest of the crowd followed in laughing.

“I know what I saw!” Raoul snapped.

The dancer pushed her upper body into Phillipe, “Comte, did you know your little brother is a peeper? Am I going to have to tell Mlle Daae to block her keyhole?” 

Comte de Chagny seized the opportunity in front of him. “I need a moment with my brother.” He kissed La Sorelli’s cheek before letting go of her arm.

He grabbed Raoul’s arm and pulled him back down the dimly light hallway, closer to Christine’s dressing room. “You are causing a scene and are embarrassing the de Chagny name so stop it right this instance!” Phillipe’s tone was a whisper but it sounded more like an angry snap. “I told you she was an opera tart, they are all tarts! They are for enjoyment! I have a gay time with La Sorelli; but she is pleasure only. They are not courting or marriage material. I know you were friends with this Mlle Daae when you children, but that was a different time. I don’t condone what you were doing, but maybe whatever you saw broke you of whatever grand delusion you had of her.”

He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Raoul, “Wipe your face.”

The Vicomte silently nodded and obeyed just as he did all those years living with his aunt. When he went to hand the cloth back to his brother Phillipe waved his hand. Raoul sighed and tucked it into his own pocked.

Comte’s round face smiled as he wrapped his arm around his little brother and walked him back to the group, “Come brother, no need to let one woman who doesn’t desire you get you down! I am sure this lovely lady here knows a couple who might find you charming.”

La Sorelli smiled as she hooked her other arm with Raoul’s “Oh yes, Vicomte, come supper is waiting along with some lovely friends.”

As they walked away The Vicomte looked over his shoulder at the dressing room door. Oh how he loved that Soprano and would be back demanding answers and believing her lies after the next performance.


End file.
